Chapter Thirty-Two: The Brother-in-Law’s Effort—Earning Money Along the Way!

The sky grew ever darker.

The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across the pages, making reading a less than pleasant experience.

Yet Han Fu was utterly absorbed, with not the slightest expectation for the prospect of sharing a room tonight, nor the faintest hint of drowsiness.

What meaning is there in sharing a room but not a bed?

It would only add to his troubles.

Unlike him, Baili Mingda was restless. Since he had opened the “Comprehensive Guide to the Faces of All Living Beings,” he had not turned a single page.

His gaze darted aimlessly—now at Han Fu, now at the book—his mind preoccupied, unable to focus.

He propped the book upright with both hands, then rested his chin on his right arm, facing Han Fu.

“Brother-in-law, isn’t it time to get some rest?” Compared to Han Fu, he was even more eager about tonight.

“I’ll read a bit longer,” Han Fu replied without taking his eyes from the page.

“No book could possibly be more alluring than my sister,” Baili Mingda said, genuinely baffled.

Han Fu glanced at him and replied, “No, but there’s no need to rush.”

“If you’re not in a hurry, I am!” Baili Mingda finally lost patience, stood up, and snatched the book from Han Fu’s hands, urging, “Hurry up and go to bed. Don’t keep my sister waiting.”

Your sister won’t be sharing a quilt with me tonight… Han Fu saw no point in arguing, lest Baili Mingda become more troublesome.

Unable to resist Baili Mingda’s persistence, Han Fu knew he would not be able to read in peace this night and rose to his feet. “Very well.”

Returning earlier was just as well; he had some questions to ask.

“Brother-in-law!”

Baili Mingda called after him, saying, “Give it your all—try to succeed in one go and let me hold my nephew next year.”

Han Fu saw infinite hope in Baili Mingda’s eyes.

Yet he could not be bothered to respond.

Not to mention there would be no consummation tonight—even if there were, he would not finish inside, and the safe period had to be considered.

To succeed in one go—how easily said.

Ah… ignorant ancients.

Han Fu walked out of the room, his back to Baili Mingda, and said, “I’ll do my best.”

“You can do it!” Baili Mingda encouraged, hurrying after him. “Do you need any medicine?”

Han Fu stopped and looked back at Baili Mingda. “Brother, I have a favor to ask.”

“Brother-in-law, just say it—no need for formalities between us.”

“Go back to your own room.”

“All right!” Baili Mingda scampered off to his own courtyard, though he did not go inside. Only after seeing Han Fu enter Baili Mingsu’s courtyard did he smile with satisfaction.

“Ten months from now, my royal nephew will surely be born.”

Despite this assertion, unease lingered in his heart.

The lamplight in Baili Mingsu’s boudoir was dim and yellow, and through the lattice window shadows flitted within the room.

Baili Mingsu was still reading, though for some reason she could not settle her mind on the text.

She thought of Han Fu returning soon, of sharing a room tonight—even if not a bed—and felt ill at ease, a nervousness absent the previous night.

After all, last night she had planned to drive Han Fu away.

Ping’er and Lian’er bustled about the room.

Fresh facecloths hung neatly on the rack, and the copper basin was filled with warm water.

The warm water and facecloths were prepared for later, to cleanse the body after the consummation.

This task belonged to the chambermaid, but neither Ping’er nor Lian’er knew which of them would be chosen.

Both were anxious, their hearts pounding. Though the autumn night was cool, the cheeks of the two young maids were flushed, and they glanced frequently toward the door.

Looking out yet again, Ping’er glimpsed a figure through the lattice and hurried closer to see—it was Han Fu.

Delighted, Ping’er turned back and said with a smile, “Miss, the young master has returned.”

Baili Mingsu tensed slightly, while Lian’er stepped forward to confirm.

“It really is the young master.”

The approaching figure came closer and clearer.

The two girls quickly opened the door and greeted him in unison.

“Master.”

Han Fu nodded, glancing at Baili Mingsu. She pretended composure but could not hide her nervousness. He couldn’t help but smile, saying, “My brother urged me back. I had wanted to read a bit longer.”

“Then let’s rest,” Baili Mingsu replied, nodding, and instructed Ping’er and Lian’er, “You two go sleep in the side room.”

As for what her brother intended, she saw through it perfectly—a plan as impractical as it was unreliable.

“What?” the two girls exclaimed, exchanging glances.

Ping’er ventured, “Miss, don’t you need us to attend you?”

She wished to stay, yet feared it, her emotions tangled and complex.

Lian’er looked at Baili Mingsu, her meaning clear though she said nothing.

“No need,” Baili Mingsu shook her head. “Go on, you needn’t concern yourselves here.”

Sharing a room but not a bed was meant to mislead others.

Even the closest maids could not be told the truth, lest word leak out and bring another round of Lady Zhou’s meddling.

Thus, the two had to be sent away.

“All right, Lian’er (Ping’er) understands.”

At their mistress’s command, the girls could only obey.

“Miss, Master—Ping’er (Lian’er) takes her leave.”

The two withdrew, closing the door firmly behind them.

What thoughts they harbored were difficult to unravel.

Baili Mingsu sat at her desk, a scroll in hand. The play of candlelight rendered her beauty more ethereal and elusive.

Han Fu sat down as well, lifted the teapot from the round table, poured himself a cup, and drank it in one gulp.

After a moment’s calm, Baili Mingsu felt her unease melt away. She gazed at Han Fu for a while, recalling “As in a Dream” and “Nie Xiaoqian,” and remarked, “Your calligraphy, though written in the regular script, has a unique style. Did you invent it yourself?”

Not at all; like his poetry, it was merely copied.

Han Fu nodded. “I came up with it out of idle boredom.”

Baili Mingsu smiled. “If a script idly invented can form a school of its own, wouldn’t the great calligraphers who labor all their lives feel ashamed to death?”

Han Fu laughed. “What concern is their shame or pride to me?”

Baili Mingsu shook her head, amused. Conversation with Han Fu was always delightful, and she grew ever more at ease.

“Last night the rain and wind were fierce, deep sleep could not dispel the lingering wine… Do you know? When the greens grow lush and the reds fade. The verse is beautiful—if I didn’t know it was yours, I’d have thought it penned by a gifted lady.”

Han Fu only smiled, inwardly noting Baili Mingsu’s sharp mind.

She went on, “Nie Xiaoqian was also enthralling, its narrative gripping. I’ve never seen a story told in such a way, especially one spanning the realms of humans and ghosts. As they say, those with virtue can communicate with both worlds. Love arises unbidden and grows ever deeper. The living may die, the dead may live—so long as there is goodness. Your story is strange and wonderful, suspenseful and thought-provoking.”

Her praise was genuine, and Han Fu accepted it with equanimity—after all, to be admired by such a wife was its own delight.

“Only…” Baili Mingsu hesitated, then continued, “Such a style may be hard for orthodox scholars to accept. Why do you write such things?”

There was no need to conceal it. Han Fu replied, “To practice my calligraphy—and to earn some money.”

“To earn money?” Baili Mingsu was taken aback, her bright eyes fixed on Han Fu.